


ang gabi'y payapa

by Hugabug



Series: HL Modern Domestic AU [1]
Category: Heneral Luna (2015)
Genre: Angst, Broken Families, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Fluffy Ending, HINDI KO ALAM KUNG BAKIT NAPAKA-SUBMISSIVE NI MIONG DITO, HINDI KO ALAM KUNG PAANO I-POV SI GOYONG KAPAG HINDI SIYA NAGLALANDI, Kinda, MAKASALANAN NGA PERO HINDI NAMAN GINAGAWA NANG TAMA, Multi, NATUTULOG LANG SI POLE DIOS MIO MADRE MIA, TALAGANG FAMILY-CENTRIC ‘TO, WALA NAMANG MABINALDO DITO, also known as the kasalanan na hindi naman ginawa nang tama, and since nakabatay ‘tong fic na ‘to sa au niya, ayoko na, but hey, cries, cries some more, crying pa more, fyi i honestly think i couldve given gresca more justice, gresca being cute, heheheehe, i think, it's cute ok, kasi ANG OOC NILA, kaso may sinulat si crejapasta na headcanon na napasakit, mabinaldo being cute, makasalanan, masakit din sa puso, na ang peg, pUTCHA, pero kyut, plinug in ko na lang si nonong, tap out na ko, tbh wala dapat dito si nonong, the title only makes sense if you know the history of the song, wala
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2015-10-30
Packaged: 2018-04-28 22:24:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5107832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hugabug/pseuds/Hugabug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ang gabi'y payapa<br/>lahat ay tahimik<br/>pati mga tala<br/>sa bughaw na langit</p>
<p>(pati mga tala<br/>sa bughaw na langit)</p>
            </blockquote>





	ang gabi'y payapa

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CrejaPatata](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrejaPatata/gifts).



> Dedicated to my beautiful and wonderful best friend theflyingbluepanda (on tumblr)—labsyu you weirdo woman X3
> 
> Also dedicated to the wonderful crejapasta (also on tumblr) who began this whole AU in the first place. How you endured me throwing my dozens and dozens of headcanons at you nonstop, I will never know. But I love you so much for that! Chu~~~=3=
> 
> (Also also, gusto ko lang ipahayag na ang mga tauhan na isinulat ko dito sa kwentong ito ay hindi nakabatay sa aming totoong mga bayani. Ito ay isang “fanfiction” para sa pelikulang Heneral Luna ng Artikulo Uno productions at hindi isang crazy historical claim.
> 
> Tenk yu powz.)

**_December 24, 2015; 10.45 PM_ **

When Goyong entered his fathers’ dimly lit bedroom his Itay immediately greeted him with a soundless finger to the lips.

Goyong paused, stopping at the doorway with his hand still wrapped around the brass door knob. He wasn’t surprised his fathers had turned in early—in fact, sleeping at 10.00 pm on Christmas Eve was almost as much of a tradition as getting up at 12.00 am to partake in Noche Buena. When he had been very little he would join them, cuddling into their warmth like a Maya-Maya burrowing into its nest. He would protest, of course, just like every hyperactive little boy would do, but that wouldn’t stop him from yawning. Neither would it stop his fathers from falling asleep.

His Itay would always go first. With his strong arms around Goyong and his chest slowly evening out its rhythmic up-and-down motion, he would drift off with a sigh, leaving behind Goyong and his Papa in the land of the awake.

Usually, Goyong would follow, but not without a fight. Sometimes, he would be buzzing with excitement, completely and utterly aware of every tick-tock of the grandfather clock in the corner of the room. He’d talk, too. Non-stop, but in hushed whispers of course, ever considerate of his slumbering Itay. His Papa, however, was always the recipient of this one-sided conversation. With his thin right arm tucked underneath his brilliant head and his left thrown over Goyong’s chest, his sublime Papa would smile and make it a point to face him. Even with his crippled legs twisted and placed at an odd angle, his Papa would always, always make sure to face him. Especially when Goyong was being particularly talkative.

And without fail, every night, his Papa, with his gentle but calculating eyes, would always be the last thing Goyong remembers seeing before going to sleep.

Now, however, it seems like the whole routine had been reversed. It had been years since Goyong has slept in the same bed as his fathers (he stopped at the age of ten when he and his baby brother had knocked their Itay out of the bed one faithful morning—he honestly had never heard his Papa laugh so loud), so his statement was probably all kinds of inaccurate, but never in all those nights he spent in their bed had he seen his Papa sleep. Sure, he’d seen him sleep on long car rides and at his desk in the study by the break of dawn, but somehow even in those positions his Papa had managed to look every inch the Sublime Paralytic the judges in court so call him. Never had Goyong seen Apolinario Aguinaldo-Mabini vulnerable.

Or at least… he hadn’t until now.

When he had entered the room, he was stopped not by the sight of his Itay still awake and propped up in bed, nor by his Itay’s noiseless warning, but by the rare sight of his Papa for once truly rested.

The Sublime Paralytic was lying on his side once more, his left arm curled loosely but possessively across his Itay’s lap. A small contented smile, a rarity in and of itself, flitted across his thin lips, erasing years of fatigue and frustration and smoothing out all the worry lines from his sharp cheeks and forehead. He looked decades younger, in Goyong’s opinion. The sight made him smile.

He tip-toed into the room, carefully easing the open door shut. He miscalculated, however, and the door shut louder than he had intended.

The sound made his Itay jump.

“Sorry, po.” Goyong said in a whisper, cringing. “Nakalimutan ko.”

His Itay said nothing in reply. He simply stared at the door, a haunted look in his eye. Beneath the candle-lit yellow glow of their antique bed side lamp, he looked decades older, with the shadows dancing beneath his tired eyes and the grey strands in his brushy black hair standing at attention. He looked calm, his face was slack, but his hands were stiff. His right hand, the one not affectionately smoothing out his partner’s thin hair, was shaking.

Goyong wrenched his gaze from it and instead sat down on the edge of his Itay’s side of the bed.

“Ayos lang ‘yan, anak.” His Itay said, shaken out of his reverie by the sudden dip in the mattress. He smiled, his dimples making yet another appearance, and Goyong opted to focus on those instead.

“Ano po ang sabi ng doktor tungkol sa kamay ninyo?” Goyong asked, smiling back with a tinge of concern.

His Itay laughed, quietly. Then shrugged.

“Mukhang hindi na siya mawawala, ‘nak.” He replied, lifting up his problematic right hand as if to put emphasis on it. “Wala raw silang ideya sa sanhi nito—Psychosomatic daw.”

Goyong frowned. “Nag-suggest po ba sila ng therapist, ‘Tay?”

“Hay nako, ‘nak.” His Itay said, sighing and shaking his head. “Pabayaan mo na.”

Goyong nodded, ever the obedient son, and they lapsed into a comfortable silence accented by the constant ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner and the distant sound of children caroling a few blocks away. Their conversations are made up of a lot of those, nowadays. Long gaps of simple silence that before would have been filled with laughter and jokes. Goyong wants to chalk it up to him living in a separate apartment and having his own life, but he knows that skype calls every night and a constant stream of texts ranging from “Kumain na ba kayo, Papa?” to “Itay, yung gamot po ninyo ‘wag nyo kalimutan” every day renders that excuse null and void. Still, he’d rather lie and say he’s been distant lately than outright admit that even talking made his Itay tired.

His parents were a constant. He can never imagine them just _not there_.

“Bakit ka nga pala nandito, ‘nak?” his Itay asked, startling Goyong.

He looked up, questioning. “Po?”

“Ba’t ka nandito? Akala ko matutulog ka na muna?”

Goyong blushed at the question, looking away from his Itay’s inquisitive but knowing eyes. The question wasn’t out of curiosity, really. No, if the twinkle in his Itay’s eye meant anything, then it was definitely a jab at his already deflated ego. His old man knew very well that sleep was going to evade him as long as his boyfriend was not in his bed.

It was Rusca’s first Christmas back from his tour in Zamboanga—a whole month leave before he had to go back to the battlefield. He had just arrived in Manila about a week ago and Goyong had been attached to his hip (“ _Clingy_.” His best friend, Jose, had teased) ever since.

Now, however, Rusca was in the kitchen with his father, Paco, and their Tita Isabel, preparing something last minute for Noche Buena. Goyong had tried to help, like the good boyfriend that he is, but he had been spanked with a wooden spoon by their Tita Isabel and shoved out the door alongside their disgruntled Tito Antonio whilst Rusca laughed his ass off. Just like that, they’ve been effectively banned from any kitchen work. _Again_.

Such was Christmas in barangay Artikulo Uno.

Still, something was missing. The phone call he’d received ten minutes ago reminded him of that.

Goyong sighed, a weight suddenly bearing down on his very being, and forced himself to look up at his Itay, nearly cringing at the sudden change in those teasing brown eyes. His Itay always knew how to read Goyong like an open book and now wasn’t an exception.

However, before either of them could say anything, his Papa stirred.

“Shhh.” His Itay soothed, running spindly fingers through curly, thin hair. Goyong waited patiently until his Papa settled back into sleep. When he finally did, Goyong couldn’t help but notice the small frown upon his face. There was a worry line on his forehead now, and the illusion of youthfulness had been shattered.

Somehow, that made the weight he was carrying grow cold.

“Bakit, anak?” his Itay questioned, turning from his slumbering partner to his son, taking his quivering right hand and placing it on top of Goyong’s own. “Nag-away ba kayo ni Rusca?”

Goyong smiled, small. Shook his head. “Hindi po, ‘Tay.”

“May nanyari ba sa opisina ninyo?”

“Hindi naman po.”

His Itay frowned, frustrated at not knowing. Goyong struggled to speak.

“Kasi po, ‘Tay…” he finally said, clearing his throat. “May tumawag ho kanina.”

“Sino?”

Goyong stuttered. “Si… Si ano po—”

“Si…?”

“Si Nonong po. Tumawag kanina.”

Instantly, his Itay froze at the mention of his _bunso_. This time, Goyong cringed visibly, half-regretting saying anything about his little brother.

Nonong—Manuel wasn’t going to celebrate Christmas with them this year. Not that that would make any difference. His baby brother had stopped celebrating Christmas with them years before.

It had been eight years since the fall out that had occurred within their little family, but Goyong remembered very clearly all the events, all the heart break they had suffered for six agonizing months. It had been a dark time in the Aguinaldo-Mabini household, with his fathers on the verge of calling a divorce for reasons Goyong never really understood and Manuel slowly but surely resenting and blaming their Itay for the pain, going so far as cursing him, _loudly_ , during dinner and crying himself to sleep every night.

And neither of their fathers were really helping, with their Itay steadily growing more distant day by day and their Papa taking the easy way and moving out of the house to escape the chaos. Goyong had resented them back then, knew that all this was just a misunderstanding between two people who loved each other but were just too proud to say so. Despite the growing pain, however, Goyong did his best to stay his tongue, hoping that it would protect his little brother from the hate he was too young to experience. Yet, no matter what Goyong said or what he tried to make others believe, both brothers knew that their adopted parents, very much like their biological ones, had left them to fend for themselves.

It had not been a good feeling.

How Goyong was able to manage, he wasn’t sure. Perhaps it had been the combined efforts of both the Luna and the Roman household. Perhaps it had been the sleepovers Jose’s older brother, Kuya Manuel Bernal, had allowed when the tension was just too much. Perhaps it had been Rusca. He wasn’t sure. All he knew was that he managed to stand his ground for the entirety of those six months.

Whereas at the end of those six months, Manuel had run away.

_That_ had gotten his fathers’ heads out of their asses. Still, when they found him, about a day later, hiding out at his friend Sergio’s house, little Nonong had refused to talk or make eye contact with either of them and only clung and spoke to Goyong. Silence had reigned all the way back home, and that night, both Aguinaldo-Mabini brothers slept over at the Luna household. Their fathers talked it out back home.

What followed after that event was a month of family therapy and counseling. Goyong had readily agreed to it, happy and relieved at the change now happening in their household. He had forgiven them easily, eager to go back to the life they had all shared before. Manuel, however…

Manuel had inherited their Itay’s short tempered-ness and their Papa’s meticulous memory. He knew how to keep a grudge. He barely attended the therapy sessions, rarely looked their Itay or their Papa in the eye, and refused to speak to them unless spoken to. Goyong was the only one he corresponded with and even that hadn’t felt as genuine as it had been.

His chest ached at the idea.

“Galit ka pa ba kay Itay?” Goyong had asked one day after a week of his baby brother’s absence at the dinner table. “Ok lang kung inamin mo sa akin. Hindi naman kita isusumbong.”

Nonong shook his head, nose buried in a worn out copy of their Tita Oryang’s anthology, _Lakambini_. “Matagal ko na sila pinatawad, Kuya.”

“So bakit parang ayaw mo na sila makasama?”

There was silence. Then, Nonong looked up and caught Goyong’s gaze. His eyes, very much like their fathers’, had grown old and worn.

“Sinaktan nila ako, Kuya.” He had said, flatly. “Sinaktan nila ako nang todo todo at kahit na pinatawad ko na sila masakit parin ang alaala. Kaya please,” he turned back to his reading. “bigyan mo ako nang kaunting oras.”

Goyong had slept over at the Romans that night, nestled in Rusca’s arms as a way of coping. Finally pulled together yet still a fragment apart. That had become the fate of their little family and Goyong refused to accept it.

“Ang desisyon ay hindi naman nasa’yo, eh.” His Tito Paco had told him the following morning. “Desisyon ito ng kapatid mo. Ang desisyon mo naman ay ito: tuluyan mo pa ba ipapakita ang pagmamahal mo sa mga tatay mo, o iiwasan mo din ba sila kagaya ng ginagawa ni Nonong?”

It had been a very easy decision to make. Goyong would be forever grateful to his Tito Paco for that.

But it didn’t mean the growing chasm didn’t hurt any less. It’s been eight years. Surely Manuel has forgiven them by now?

According to the phone call, apparently not.

“Ano’ng sinabi ng kapatid mo?” his Itay asked, trying so very hard at being nonchalant. Goyong cringed once more and clutched the shaking hand in his. All this had hit their Itay the hardest. It seemed, deep down, Manuel still believed he had been the cause of all their heart break. Believed in it so hard, in fact, he’d been blinded to the real truth—Their Itay had been wrong, but he also loved him. And he wanted Nonong’s forgiveness more than anything.

Goyong sighed. “Tumawag siya galing sa dorm nila, ‘Tay.” He reported, hanging his head. “Marami raw siyang ginagawa para sa org nila at hindi siya makakatakas. Doon na lang siya magpa-pasko.”

His Itay visibly deflated, and Goyong squeezed his hand.

There are moments when he loves his little brother to bits (that surprise birthday party he conducted the year before, those video calls he had arranged with Rusca the first few weeks he was in Zamboanga, that time he came to Goyong’s apartment even if it was two o’clock in the morning just to calm his impending panic attack) but there are moments, moments such as these, where all he really wanted to do was grab his little brother by the ear and _pull_.

“’Yun lang ba ang sinabi niya?” his Itay asked after a long silence.

“Namasko din po siya.” Goyong said. A shameless claim. And a lie, of course. His brother had put down the phone the second Goyong tried to protest his absence. But what’s the harm in a little lie?

At least it made his Itay smile. “Talaga?”

“Opo. Sa inyo po ni Papa.”

“Mabuti naman.” His Itay said, nodding his head. “Nalala niya rin kami.”

Goyong held back a bitter laugh and instead let out a small, sad smile.

It was Christmas. No matter how many empty chairs there were around the Noche Buena table, it was still Christmas. And Goyong would never forgive himself if he ruined it.

“Sha, ‘Tay, lalabas muna ‘ko.” He announced, standing and squeezing his Itay’s quivering hand before bending forward to give him a small kiss on the crown of his greying head. “Malapit na mag alas-dose. Baka po gusto ninyo mag-idlip muna?”

His Itay chuckled and his Papa stirred.

“Sige lang, anak.” he mumbled, turning away from Goyong to smile and soothe his sleeping partner. “Ayos lang ako dito.”

* * *

When he made it back to the _sala_ Rusca was already waiting, curled up at the foot of the sofa and looking up at the Christmas tree with all its glittering baubles and decorations like he couldn't quite believe he was still there to see them.

Goyong refused to dwell on that idea as well, determined to keep a little bit of the Christmas spirit alive.

“Ba’t iniba nila ni Tito Pole ang ilaw ng Christmas tree?” Rusca suddenly asked, turning from his perch to look up at him. There was a sunny grin on his face, sweet and understanding, and the sight made Goyong collapse on the floor and crawl into his lap.

Rusca laughed, rough but musical as Goyong burrowed into his warmth. “Ano ba ‘yan? Napaka-clingy mo.”

“Hmpf.” Goyong scoffed, face pressed into his boyfriend’s neck. “Nagugustuhan mo naman.”

“What do you mean? I’m only in this relationship for the sex.”

Goyong whined, then with his free arm, lazily swatted at his boyfriend’s general direction. His entire hand didn’t manage to hit anything but his fingers did end up violently flicking him on the nose.

The attempt made Rusca laugh even more and despite being the butt end of the joke, Goyong still managed to smile.

He hadn’t heard his boyfriend laugh for over a year. Sure, they still exchanged emails, texts, and from time to time a video-chat on skype but that didn’t compare to the real thing. And he’d really, really missed the real thing.

With that thought, Goyong wrapped an arm around Rusca’s waist and simply _clung_.

The gesture quieted down the laughter to a sweet chuckle and in return, two strong arms, one around his back and another around his front, wrapped Goyong in an embrace that shot small amounts of electricity down his spine and somehow, even after all these years, managed to resurrect those pesky butterflies in his belly.

Goyong sighed, content. He had this for two straight months. After the first week of February, he’d be back to their empty bed.

“Ano yung tanong mo?” Goyong said instead, closing his eyes and trying to veer away his thoughts from their inevitable separation.

“Ha?”

“Yung ilaw?”

“Ah! Uh-hmm.” Rusca nodded, vigorously, and pulled away to look at Goyong in the face. “Ba’t nga pala?”

Goyong shrugged. “Sabi daw ni Itay baka ma-trigger ka sa pula na ilaw.”

“Pumayag ka?”

“O, naman.”

“Bakit?”

Goyong opened his eyes and frowned. “Bakit?”

“Bakit, bakit?” Rusca replied, grinning a very confused grin. “Akala ko yung pinakapaborito mo yung ilaw na makulay. Alam mo, yung _kumukutikutitap, bumu_ —”

Goyong laughed and clamped a hand over his boyfriend’s mouth. “Hoy. Uulan.”

“’Di ah!” Rusca protested, trying to lick Goyong’s hand. Goyong pulled away last minute, though, and Rusca pouted at his foiled attempt. But when Goyong scoffed at him, the pout melted away and was replaced once more by a confused smile. “O, bakit nga ba?”

“Bakit ano?”

“Bakit ka pumayag? Ang tagal na kaya ng Christmas Lights na ‘yun—ever since bata pa tayo diba?”

Goyong shrugged, burying his face into the crook of Rusca’s neck. “As if kaya ko makita kang nagdudurusa, ano?”

“Nako, Goyong.” Rusca laughed, a low rumble in Goyong’s ear. “Hindi ko kaya magdurusa kapag kasama kita.”

_Ay. Foul._

Rusca laughed even harder as Goyong hid his reddening face deeper into the crook of his neck. “Ako dapat ang magaling sa mga kilig lines, hoy.”

“Nakow! Out of practice ka na ‘ata eh!”

“Hindi, ah!”

“O, kaya!”

Goyong pouted. “Walang hiya.”

The answer to his contempt came in the form of another sweet chuckle that tapered off into comfortable silence. Now, they were just enjoying each other’s company, sharing warmth to stave off the cold Christmas air that only came every once a year. It was in moments like this Goyong was anything but a restless, fidgety mess. Usually he wasn’t like that at all—to be honest, he was rather happy-go-lucky. But ever since the start of the Ber-months he hadn’t been able to sit still, running here and there to prepare for his boyfriend’s arrival, putting up the numerous little parols around the house, and sending Christmas cards and little gifts to friends his fathers had forgotten. He had never participated in the Christmas festivities before, choosing instead to stay out of the way until the cleanup process began (packing away the tree was something he was good at, assembling it, however, was not) and leaving all the preparation to his Papa and his Tita Isabel. This year, however, with his Papa’s failing health he made sure that the brunt of the work would fall to him. He’d been busy.

Now, it was Christmas Eve, and there was nothing left to do but enjoy. And yet, something just kept on nagging—

“Wala ulit si Nonong?” Rusca suddenly asked, nonchalant but so obviously worried.

Goyong must have tensed up because his boyfriend’s arms tightened just a fraction around him.

He sighed, forcing himself to relax against them. “Wala.”

“Baka may valid naman siyang dahilan?”

Goyong laughed, sadly, and pulled away to look at his boyfriend. “Org work? Valid ba ‘yun?”

Rusca shrugged, but even he didn’t look convinced. “Alam mo naman si Nonong.”

Yes. _Alam na alam_.

Goyong sighed, then tilted his head back to let out a yawn. Down the hallway, the grandfather clock chimed eleven o’clock and outside the crickets about chirped incessantly, a constant carol that made his eyes drop and his head grow heavy. One hour before Noche Buena. If he were to sleep now, he’d wake up with a splitting head ache and a crick in his neck.

“Hnnn…” he droned, closing his eyes momentarily as Rusca began peppering little comforting kisses down his exposed throat. “… May kape pa ba diyan?”

“Ay, wow.” His boyfriend said, ceasing his attack and instead pressing a small pout into Goyong’s warm skin. “Galing nang pagka-cock block. Bigyan ng jacket!”

“Kape na lang.”

“3-in-1, gusto mo?”

“… Barako.”

“Ay, demanding!”

Goyong pulled his head back up and gave his boyfriend the biggest pout he could possibly muster.

To say Rusca melted at the sight was an understatement.

“Jusme.” He said, rolling his eyes as he begun unfurling himself from the little cocoon they’ve constructed. “Ginagawa mo na ‘kong alipin.”

“ _Ako’y alipin mo kahit hindi batid_ —”

“Uulan.”

“Sige na, _pleeeaaaassseee_.” Goyong laughed, pecked his boyfriend sweetly on the corner of his mouth, and grinned. “I’ll make it up to you.”

Rusca smirked. “At paano mo gagawin ‘yon?”

“Kahit ano’ng hiling mo, gagawin ko. Pramis!”

Rusca’s smirk widened. “Talaga, ah?”

“Sige ba!”

“So… ikaw magluluto ng almusal bukas?”

“Basta hotdog at LO kaya ko.”

“Ikaw din ang huhugas ng pingan?”

“Oo!”

“At ikaw din ang magbo-bottom mamaya?”

At that, Goyong laughed (or more like giggled) and tilted his head to the side, as if in thought. “Medj hindi ko ‘ata kaya ‘yan ah.”

“Oo nga.” Rusca agreed, nodding his head solemnly despite the smile threatening to spill across his face. “Baka magising ang buong bahay.”

“Hoy—”

“Aba! Kasalanan ko ba na malakas ang boses mo?”

“Che!”

Rusca laughed a full belly laugh in reply, one that forced him to screw his eyes shut and throw his head back in mirth. The movement was so simple, so fluid, that Goyong couldn’t help but watch in awe as joy simply burst out of this beautiful human being like it was the easiest thing to come by. It made him feel lighter, in a way.

( _God_ he was so in love.)

“O, gagawin ko na ‘yun lahat.” He said, nosing forward to nuzzle his boyfriend’s jaw. “Kahit na walang kapeng kapalit, gagawin ko.”

Rusca chuckled, and nuzzled back. “Pero gusto mo pa rin ng kape?”

Goyong grinned. “Oks din ‘yun.” Then kissed him square on the lips.

Rusca pushed back, smiling lopsidedly as he re-wrapped his arms around Goyong and pulled him even closer than he was before. Just like that, their cocoon was once again restored and Goyong couldn’t help but sigh into the mouth lazily moving against his. This. This was just… Something.

Something really _really_ go—

“Hoy…” Rusca mumbled, heatedly as he pulled away. Goyong chased him with his lips, but his boyfriend was having none of it. “Goyong, wait lang—”

“Eeehh,” Goyong whined, pouting. “Ano?”

_DING-DONG-DING-DONG_

Goyong felt realization dawn upon his face. It must have been really visible, judging by the smug smile Rusca threw his way before he leaned forward once more and landed a small peck on the corner of Goyong’s mouth. “Sagutin mo muna ang pintuan.”

“Ikaw kaya sagutin ko?”

“Asus! Sino kaya sa'ting dalawa ang nag-ligaw?”

Goyong frowned. “ _Edddd_ ….”

Rusca smirked. “ _Goyong_. Gusto mo ba ng kape o hindi?”

“Mas gusto ko ‘ata ang halik m—”

Rusca shoved him off his lap before he could say anymore and promptly stood before sauntering out of the _sala_. He was so fast, Goyong had no time to react.

_DING-DONG_

“Ed!”

Laughter resounded from the kitchen. “Pintuan muna~!”

_DING-DONG-DING-DONG_

“Walang hiya.” Goyong grumbled, picking himself up from the floor and ambling his way toward the door. In the hallway, the grandfather chimed alongside the incessant doorbell, the end of the twelfth and final hour of Christmas Eve.

_DING-DONG-DING-DONG-DING-DONG_

“Punyeta.” He cursed, glaring at the door as he drew closer. “Oo na! Sandali lang ang puta naman ‘tong namamasko—”

“Goyong, sagutin mo ang pintuan!” Rusca giggled from the kitchen.

Goyong turned to glare in his general direction. “Oho na po, Nanay, sandali la—”

_DING-DONG-DING-DONG-DING-DONG_

The grandfather clock stopped its rumbling roll call, and Goyong sighed.

“ _Punyeta_ ,” he swore, stalking forward. “Punyeta, _ano_ —”

He violently yanked the door open and came face to face with his sweaty, but still immaculately put together, little brother.

“Hey.” Nonong said as he leaned against the doorway and took a greedy intake of air. “Sorry. Late ba ‘ko? Dami kasi ng tao doon sa harap ng simbahan, hindi maka daan ang taxi, kaya naglakad na lang ako. Eto o—” he thrust a blue-&-white striped plastic bag toward Goyong. “Bibingka’t suman. May ensaymada din dapat diyan kaso kinain ko na on the way.”

Nonong gave the bag a little shake, a gesture that silently demanded that Goyong take it, but Goyong simply stared and tried to stop the rushing blood in his ears.

He’s here. His baby brother’s _here_.

“Himala!” Rusca exclaimed as he walked out of the kitchen, making Goyong nearly jump a foot into the air. “Bumalik din ang alibughang anak!”

Nonong grinned at him, his smile impish and carefree and… _sheepish_. “Punyeta mo.”

Rusca laughed, loud and delighted, and Goyong latched on to the sound to stop his body from thrumming. He was confused, and dizzy, and maybe a little angry, but all those sensations were overwhelmed by his urge to run down the hall and into his fathers’ room, hollering and whooping just like he had on a Christmas day so long ago, when things had been simpler and laughter was so much easier to come by and his baby brother had been a part and not apart—

“Goyong, Rusca, ano ba ‘yan?” his Itay’s voice suddenly said, breaking Goyong’s reverie as it entered the fray. “Ang ingay-ingay. Natutulog ang Papa ninyo—”

The voice paused, and Nonong’s eyes shifted from Goyong to somebody behind him. Then, his grin shrunk into a soft smile, no longer wary, no longer guarded just… A smile.

The sight made Goyong’s chest ache. In a really _really_ good way.

“’Tay.” Goyong said, slowly turning as his own grin spread across his cheeks. When he came face to face with their Itay (whose eyes were wide and disbelieving but hoping so much it must have hurt) the urge to run and skip and holler multiplied ten-fold. “Si Nonong po.”

Their Itay didn’t answer, didn’t move. Simply stared. So Nonong took a step forward instead.

“Itay,” his baby brother said, small and shy, but open. He offered his little plastic bag of _bibingka_ and _suman_. “Merry Christmas, po.”

And for the first time in a long time, their Itay’s right hand stopped shaking.

**Author's Note:**

> Ang bait ko kay Miong. Siguro I should have them all die (Goyong of a hit-&-run (OTL”), Manuel of complications with his asthma, and Pole of complications with medication) para si Miong na lang ang maiiwan—Like in real life!
> 
> No. Joke. Hindi naman ako ganun kasama.
> 
> Ok so. Headcanon ko na seven years apart sina Goyong at Manuel—so if Goyong is 25 here then Manuel is 18 and is dorming sa may UST—naks, following in the footsteps of the Papa (pero pagdating sa excuses mana sa Itay XDDD). Ewan ko na kung ano’ng edad sina Pole at Miong. Just imagine na lang. Personally, feeling ko they got Goyong when they were already in their early thirties (career muna ano—atsaka mahirap kaya mag-adopt, dios mio madre mia) and they got Manuel mga late thirties or early forties na. So… they could be fifty here? Old enough for Goyong to notice them slowing down, but young enough not to be retired yet.
> 
> (btw Miong’s constantly quivering right hand was inspired by the end in Heneral Luna where Mon Confiado made the acting choice to keep his hands stiff and shaking, even if the rest of his posture was slack and relaxed.
> 
> Headcanon ko kasi na Miong was one of those underground activists kasama nina Pole, Andoy, Oryang, Jacinto, Luna, atbp during the Martial Law. Of course, with the shit they’ve been through hindi din naman uncommon na magkaroon sila nang kaunting PTSD diba?
> 
> Feeling ko lumala lang ang pagnginginig ng kamay niya nung nangyari yung fall out nila. Tapos gradually nag-build up ito hangang hindi na niya magamit-gamit ang kanan niyang kamay.
> 
> Ewan ko lang, ah. I just went with the pinaka-masakit route.)
> 
> I tried to make it fluffy. I promise, I did. Pero medyo nawala lang sa’kin ang imahenasyon ko at nakaabot ako dito. So Family. Such hurt/comfort. Much sin. Wow. *cries*
> 
> Baka, if the fates allow, I’ll write some Gresca/Mabinaldo/Pacoven fluff to atone for this monstrosity.
> 
> Until I sin again!!
> 
> Edit: shit is going down in the fandom. If you need to talk I'm right here and on twitter (@shekinah_mikael) pls if something is distressing you feel free to talk to me. Labsyu ol mga LUNAtico.


End file.
